Clumsy As She Goes
by Serena Kenobi
Summary: Jamie Bond is secret agent 00712. She wants to be a smooth, debonair assassin like her father, worldwide famous James Bond, but being the clumsiest person in the world can’t be helpful in that department.


**Clumsy As She Goes**

**By Serena Kenobi **

**Summary: Jamie Bond is secret agent 0071/2. She wants to be a smooth, debonair assassin like her father, worldwide famous James Bond, but being the clumsiest person in the world can't be helpful in that department.**

**Disclaimer: Do not own it. **

* * *

  
Okay, so I know what you're thinking. Me? A double agent? A spy? Moi? Little ol' Jamie Bond, promoted to 00 status?

You can stop laughing now.

No, seriously. I mean it. I'm not _that _clumsy. Okay, well… so what if I am? Didn't stop me from following my father's footsteps and being known as 0071/2. I tried to have that changed to 008 or something simpler, but "M" told me all the other names were taken. I remember the day clearly…

"Well," I said to her, "What about 0013?"

She shook her head. "Taken."

"0020?"

"Nope."

"0027?"

"Not available."

I was getting desperate. "001 through 39?"

"Now you're pushing it," she snapped.

I glared at her. "Are you telling me that you have thirty-nine double agents? Talk about secret service… What about 0065?"

She shook her head again and stood. "I'm sorry, Jamie. But you'll have to settle with a number and a half."

And so that's how I ended up with 0071/2. Bloody English tyrannical woman. I should shoot her. If I could load a gun without blowing something up, I would do it. I would!

My dear ol' Dad (bloody self-righteous Englishman) had no idea I'd joined in the family business. Matter of fact, he didn't even know I existed. He had met my mother a while back and ran off on her to continue playing World's Best Looking Double Agent And Hottest Murderer of the Century. He didn't know that he had gotten her pregnant. So, she had me, and life went on. We moved to America and stayed there, and when I was sixteen, she told me the truth. My father was James Bond.

Yeah, I screamed too.

Imagine me, just an ordinary girl: the daughter of the biggest womanizer in the history of the world. Great. Let's go out for pizza.

But after a while, I learned about what he did. I looked for answers by going to the British Secret Service and meeting "M." Suffice to say, she was not very shocked that I was James Bond's daughter. But after being with me for a minute, she started to doubt my parenthood. And I only broke _one _vase! And slammed into a few walls and managing to break my toe, but other than that it was a very good day. She asked me repeatedly if I was, in fact, the daughter of the smoothest, most charming and dashing, elegant assassin ever to walk the face of the earth. I told her yes every time, but after a while, I began to doubt that fact myself.

Let's just say that "M" made me take four DNA tests to prove my identity. I was insulted but didn't push it. "M" didn't seem like the nicest person around.

I'm still seriously thinking about killing her. Gotta work on the target practice, though.

* * *

** MISSION: CAN YOU SAY DOUBLY IMPOSSIBLE?**

* * *

Here's the dealio. "M" contacted me a few days ago and told me I had a new mission. I had infiltrate this casino owned by an Italian, Joe Shmo (I couldn't remember his name). It was in Italy, which was always a bonus. I actually do this job partly for the free vacation spots. Hey, I get to stay in the best places, eat the best food, shop with all the moola I want, and all for doing a little killing. Can anyone say cheap? I think the BSS (British Secret Service) is getting scammed, personally.

Moving on.

I arrived in a private jet (man I LOVE those airline peanuts!) and when it landed, I stepped off the plane, where an assistant from La Grande Casino (classy name, huh? Just reeks of originality) was waiting to escort me, the Duchess of the English town Manchester to the casino. I took a step and… tumbled all the way down the stairs.

"Oh, miss! Duchess!"

"I'm all right," I grunted very unladylike-ish. I scrambled to my feet, brushed off my three thousand dollar dress suit, and held out a scraped, bleeding hand covered with pavement stones. "Hello," I said, smiling. "I'm Helen. Helen DeCartier."

The assistant stared at me. "Are you all right?" He stammered.

"Oh, fine," I nodded airily. "Never been better."

"But – but your hand…"

I looked at it. "Yeah. I think you're supposed to shake it or something…" I grinned at him. He blushed and slowly and reluctantly took it, pulling away as quickly as he could without trying to look too rude. "So, off to La Grande Casino?"

"Of course," he said in a rushed tone and opened the door to a nice looking limo. "I hope you find your accommodations to your liking."

"Yes, it's nice," I said, stumbling into the limo as I tripped over my extremely high heels. "Color TV and everything," I joked. Hmm. The English accent needed work. Luckily, the guy looked like too much of an idiot to notice and slid into the other side of the limo. We drove off through the charming town we were in… wait, what town _were _we in? I asked him that question, to which he just laughed. I didn't get it. "I don't get it," I said, once again cursing my bad English accent. My own Daddy Dearest was bloody English for crying out loud! I cursed in British! Why couldn't I TALK like British? I decided immediately that I was cursed.

* * *

Just went out on a limb with this. Tell me what you think!

- Serena


End file.
